


The Preview

by SunnyD_lite



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-20
Updated: 2009-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a rare night off, but instead of taking in a Jags game on the couch, he had braved another rainy evening to attend a show at a small gallery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Preview

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: **tamingthemuse** #152 Vernissage &amp; **Sentinel_thurs** 278 Primary Colours  
> Disclaimer: Not Petfly, just playing, no harm no foul, right?

"Why are we here, Chief?" Jim asked as he ducked around a ladder and tried to ignore the sound of hammering. It was a rare night off, but instead of taking in a Jags game on the couch, he had braved another rainy evening to attend a show at a small gallery. Or he thought as he pushed some draping plastic out of his way, an almost ready show. Shouldn't they have waited for the real opening?

"It's an honor, they used to call the preview of a show a vernissage." Blair was checking out each piece of the collection as if he was intending to buy. "It used to be that the artists would use this time to varnish their works, freezing them for the show."

Following a pace behind, Jim still couldn't figure out the attraction of the odd colored geometrics. He preferred landscapes or classical scenes that his art history courses had taught him to decode over the bright primary colors. "But?"

Sandburg looked over his shoulder. His glasses in place and over sized tweed making him look more like professor than anything he wore to the precinct. "But what?"

Refraining from a childish eye roll, a response only Sandburg could draw from him, Jim clarified. "There was clearly a but at the end of that diatribe."

"You could hear that? Hey do you think you're getting psychic, that would be so cool and.--"

"Down pup!" Jim put his arms up in a barrier. "I know you. So, but what?"

"But nowadays everything is so planned and organized. Some artists would use the verissage to react to others' work, and it became a conversation. It's how different schools of art got started."

A bit of trivia drifted forward. "You mean like that show that launched the Impressionists in Paris?"

"Oh man, that would have been so cool. To watch different artists breaking the rules, bouncing ideas off each other. The creative energy."

He could see Sandburg getting wound up even thinking about it. It was nice to see that passion again. Wait a moment, again? When had it got lost?

"Wouldn't varnishing a painting freeze it? That seems the antithesis of creative." Yes, he was throwing around a bit of vocabulary not needed at work. But this was Blair's world. He could fit in, he just rarely bothered. Not that Blair'd ever fit in at Major Crimes. Forced himself in, but never slid into a ready spot. Although, was there ever a Blair shaped spot before he got there? The strange thing is there was always a Blair shaped hole when he left.

"You've got to finish one work, before you can move onto another." His partner shrugged. "It's the way of the world."

A world where Sandburg now carried a badge. Where the tweed only left the closet on special occasions. Did Rainer miss him? If they didn't they were fools.

"So what's this conversation saying?" Police officers didn't lecture. Funny how he'd come to miss it.

"We've got the isolation of self. See these sharp edges."

Jim let the soothing tones wash over him. He even nodded at points of agreement and came up with a few alternative interpretations, just to stay in the game.

One chapter of Sandburg's life had closed. Hopefully the dialogue in this next part would let him harness his passionate and creative energy. As long as Sandburg stayed Sandburg, Jim would be content.


End file.
